


too much is never enough

by bisexualbluesargent



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, character growth!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-08 00:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20985017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualbluesargent/pseuds/bisexualbluesargent
Summary: “You must have some idea, Yuuri, of what you are.”





	too much is never enough

**Author's Note:**

> this is a story about three different beds.

Victor was in Yuuri’s house.

It wasn’t ideal, no.

Yuuri was staring at his posters, face in his hands. There were easier ways to die. Honestly. Jumping off a cliff. Skydiving accidents. Skiing accidents! Tripping down some stairs. Could you die from that? Yuuri felt like he was in stuck in an elevator whose cable had broke. Down he went.

Victor winked at him from the print near his desk. The lamp sitting on the aging table was aimed at it like a spotlight. He would love that, Yuuri thought bitterly. All the attention. Yuuri was jealous of his ability to handle it, to want it, but this was old news.

Yuuri yelped when he heard a knock on the door. It was Victor, surely. Let’s take a bath, Yuuri! Let’s discuss choreography, Yuuri! I want to see your room, Yuuri! The man was so demanding. Yuuri wanted to stay under the covers watching Terrace House. He wanted to take down all his posters, but he hadn’t yet. He didn’t really know why.

“Yuuri!” Victor’s voice often lilted into something like a song. Melodic, graceful. Beautiful. Even through the wood of his bedroom door, he could hear all the notes being hit, just right. Victor was a dancer, a performer. A legend. Yuuri had once counted all the posters he had that featured him. Thirty-two. Thirty fucking two. And those were official ones. He hadn’t counted the pages torn out of GQ or People. Half of them were gifts. His friends knew what he liked.

Yuuri got up begrudgingly. “Give me a second. I need to clean up.” He hadn’t slept well. He would go into why, but. It was all just so embarrassing.

“I don’t mind a mess!” Victor was jiggling the door in a way he probably thought was sneaky. Yuuri eyed the handle warily as he ripped poster after poster down, tape catching on some, ruining the edges. He would mourn them later.

“You have the real Victor there now.” Phichit had laughed at him good-naturedly over the phone. “How does it feel? What is he like?”

“Terrifying,” Yuuri had said, because it was, because he was.

“But isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?” Phichit was chewing on some chips, crunching noises making it hard to understand what he was saying. Yuuri thought he heard the squeak of a hamster in the background.

Yuuri coughed. “Phichit, he’s here and he thinks- he’s going to- he’s going to find out I’m not what he thinks I am, or he’s going to get bored, and he’s going to leave. And I don’t think my heart can take it.” His poor, pining, pathetic heart.

Yuuri came back to himself. He breathed in the air he grew up in. It was both welcoming and stifling. It didn’t make a lot of sense. He was safe here, it was easy, but he felt loneliness creeping around the edges of his vision every day. The walks around town weren’t enough. The dinners with his family, they weren’t enough. The skating rink, it had started to not be enough. He was getting tired. His feet wanted more, the thing inside his chest wanted more. He knew what he was missing, but it was better to roll over in bed, to hit the snooze button. He didn’t know where to find it. He was too afraid to put it into words.

He opened the door and found it hard to believe that Victor wasn’t intentionally posing. He was leaning against the doorframe so earnestly that Yuuri almost wanted to slam the door on him. It was these moments, in which Yuuri felt the urge to bolt in the other direction, that hurt Yuuri the most. Because Victor was giving him something kind, something real and genuine. And Yuuri, he hated it. He really hated it.

“I want to see your room,” said Victor, pushing past him with finality. Yuuri sighed at him. “Oh! It’s so cute.”

Yuuri just looked at him, following him around with a pained expression. “Thanks.”

Victor bounced onto his bed, looking around like he couldn’t get enough of it all. He was always moving, always so full of energy. Like the music was pouring out of _him_, no speakers needed. _The whole _world _is my rink_, he had said in an interview for Time Magazine. Yuuri knew it was corny, objectively.

_He was in Time_, Yuuri thought to himself. _And now he’s on my twin bed._

“It feels like you. A younger you, but. Nonetheless.” Victor stretched his neck and tilted his head back, exposing his Adam’s apple. Yuuri swallowed in time with it. They should do couples’ skating, ha ha.

“Thanks,” Yuuri repeated, clasping his hands, unclasping them. He was standing in the middle of his shag carpet, twitching. Victor studied him, mouth pressed together and slightly amused.

“Are you scared of me, Yuuri?” Victor leaned forward, his jawline sharp, his trousers sharper, nothing about him that wasn’t a handful and a giant, twisting explosion. A hurricane made of violin strings. If Yuuri had to describe him as a sound, he would-

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri let out a manic peal of laughter, then reigned it in, thank God. “Just a little?”

“Hm,” said Victor sadly, which didn’t make any sense. “Is it the fame? Are you intimidated? Tell me, Yuuri. Don’t worry about what I’ll think.”

“No, I just-“ Yuuri swallowed again, mouth dry. What was he supposed to say? I’ve read every interview you’ve ever had. I had to take down my dozens of posters off the walls a minute ago. Did you know I’m in love with you? Can you tell? That I’ve fantasized about you, but have never been less enough of a coward to go up to you and say hello? And that the one time I did, you didn’t even-

“Come sit.” Victor was patting the spot on his bed next to him, eyebrow raised. Yuuri stared at his hand. “Come on.” Victor was laughing. When Yuuri was close enough to him to anticipate sweat forming on various parts of his body, Victor poked at him. Yuuri had to remind himself not to jump. “Why are you so nervous around me? Be honest. I can take it.”

Yuuri was silent for too long. He met Victor’s gaze. “Why did you come here, Victor?”

Victor looked taken aback. Yuuri was surprised too, to find, bursting from inside himself, a terrible delight at shocking him. It felt good. To be unexpected. A Quad Lutz. A quad flip, perfect landing.

Victor was stumbling around, words thumping onto the ground, falling over, and that was strange, too. “Well, I saw your video. I thought, well.”

Yuuri giggled, insane. Victor stopped talking to stare at him, eyelashes fluttering. And then his eyes darted over to a drawer, accidentally left half open, filled with pictures of him.

“Oh,” he said, practically running over to pull them out. “These are of me.” He was thrilled; Yuuri would have found it so incredibly endearing, in any other context. Yuuri, actually, was getting up to scream at him not to look, which, of course, made Victor get there quicker.

“I love this one,” said Victor, shoving a poster in Yuuri’s face, triumphant. “It _is_ the fame! You’re a fan!”

Yuuri was spluttering. He was sure he was bright red. When Victor was 18, he had skated to Tchaikovsky in that very color.

“I hate this one, though. I despise it. The photographer was so pretentious.” Victor shoved it back into the pile. He was humming, beginning to rifle through Yuuri’s other drawers. “I’ve always thought that the best way to get to know a person is to go through all their stuff.”

“That’s- what! That’s private!” Yuuri shrieked, trying to shove him away. Victor simply laughed at him.

“Oh, _Yuuri_.” Victor pulled out a dildo, ecstatic. Electric blue. Yuuri was going to die, yeah. He felt the reaper at his shoulders.

—

The elevator ride up to their hotel room was long. The air was heavy. It was nothing like his bedroom at home. And yet, and yet, and yet.

Victor was prattling on about the other skaters’ routines, beaming. Yuuri allowed himself a moment of adoration, tracing the lines of his suit with his eyes. Victor was so much. How did you become something like that? Yuuri knew. He had read all of the articles ever written about that something.

And then his voice faded out. “Are you listening, Yuuri?”

“Always,” Yuuri whispered, watching the lights next to the numbers of the floors turn off and on, again, again.

Victor grabbed his hand. His phone rang, he answered it. “Yurio!” Yelling streamed out of the phone, Victor apparently finding it funny.

Yuuri squeezed Victor’s thumb, watched himself do it. He was a million miles away. He was right here. The vermillion walls, the golden ceiling. They had kissed. They had kissed they had kissed they had kissed they had kissed they had-

Victor pulled him out of the elevator. Yuuri realized he was smiling.

When Yuuri walked into his hotel room, Victor followed him in.

Yuuri had grown up nervous. He had grown up small, he had grown up trailing behind someone else. He had grown up a ballerina. A dancer. A kid alone on an ice rink, fluorescent lights ingrained into every muscle he had. Yuuri had watched Victor on a small, static-filled TV with his family and thought, yes. Yes. That’s it.

That’s what he had wanted to be. What he had wanted, period. _No_, he had thought, at age fifteen. _No, that’s not what this is._ When Takeshi had referred to his love for Victor as a crush to tease him. _No, no_. Yuuri didn’t have crushes. He had _admiration_. He had an _idol._

“Will you kiss me again?” Yuuri said, voice so frail, when they had laid down on his bed, not touching, staring at the ceiling. _We can pretend there are stars up there, _Victor had joked. _I used to do that when I was younger. _Yuuri hadn’t laughed.

Victor slowly turned his head to look at him. Yuuri had never seen his eyes like this. Not really sad, but something else. Lonely? Yuuri had once thought that Victor Nikiforov would have never felt lonely. He had sworn to be that popular, someday. Empty holes in Yuuri, it seemed like that if Victor had ever had them, they had been long-ago filled.

He looked at him then, in that hotel room, and felt that thing inside his chest crack, like it was made of glass, like it had never been anything stronger, and that was the worst part.

“Don’t cry, Yuuri.” Victor was smiling at him like he was going to start crying, too.

“It’s a happy cry,” Yuuri said, snot going all over the place. Victor reached over to caress Yuuri’s cheek with the back of his hand. Yuuri shuddered.

“You’ve cried too much today, though.” Victor’s head was tilted toward the ceiling again, fingers painting crooked lines across Yuuri’s skin. His voice was apologetic. Yuuri had exploded in the parking garage. He’d earned second place to Phichit. It had all worked out, somehow.

“Crying feels good.” Yuuri placed his hand over Victor’s, feeling his own cheeks dimple. “You should try it sometime.”

Victor’s laugh shook the bed. “It’s not the best look for me, trust me.” He seemed to lose himself in thought. Yuuri watched him, trying to find a door to open and failing.

“Your short program, Yuuri.” Victor’s hand was on Yuuri’s chest, now. Rubbing so close to Yuuri’s nipples. Yuuri could hear his heart rate climbing, nothing like a symphony. A cacophonous mess.

“My short program?” Yuuri squeaked.

Victor rolled over to climb over Yuuri, practically straddling him. Yuuri’s heart was a gunshot, his head pounding again and again.

“I just want to,” Victor licked his lips. “Talk about how good it was.” He moved his hips down so that his dick was brushing across Yuuri’s through their layers of clothing. His breath was hot and fanning over Yuuri’s lips.

“What were you thinking about, then,” murmured Victor into Yuuri’s ear, silk and red wine. He had so many personalities inside of him. He could bring them out whenever he wanted. Yuuri only had a few, the most important one always, always, involving-

“Victor,” he whispered, voice raw.

Victor leaned down to kiss him, slow and tender. His tongue, all over Yuuri’s bottom lip. “You want me to tell you a secret, Yuuri?” His cock was rubbing against Yuuri’s now, and Yuuri was making breathy noises like a frightened animal. Victor didn’t wait for a reply. “Sometimes,” he drew out the word, it was all a show, Yuuri couldn’t wait to applaud- “sometimes, when it’s late at night, and I find you in the rink, unable to sleep, I think about touching you, just,” he kissed him again, “like,” he buried his face in Yuuri’s neck, “this.” He brought his hand down, cupping Yuuri’s cock. After a while, he bent his head down to suck it, Yuuri moaning and begging and doing everything he would be mortified about later.

—

When they got back to the hotel after the Grand Prix Final, Victor cried.

“It’s a happy cry,” he had said, trying to form a more charismatic expression, and then had proceeded to start full-on balling. Yuuri handed him tissues, a little scared.

“Don’t look at me like that,” gasped Victor, sniffing violently. “This is- this is never what I expected. None of this. Isn’t it great, Yuuri?” He had that wide open look, the one that Yuuri had always wanted to get away from.

“Yes, it is,” Yuuri said as he pressed his face into Victor’s shoulder. He was holding him too tight for it to be comfortable, but Victor only went for tighter, the sobs wracking every inch of him.

“Yuuri, Yuuri,” Victor kept saying, and Yuuri was in tears, what else did he expect.

After a while, they both stopped moving, save for their breathing. In-sync.

“Let’s skate together. For the exhibition.”

“Victor!”

“They’ll lose their minds.” Victor was mouthing at Yuuri’s neck. His hand was rubbing along Yuuri’s thigh.

Yuuri, in a fit of courage, reached over to rub his hand over Victor’s dick through his trousers. “We could do your routine.”

“Yuuri,” said Victor, eyes wide. Pupils dilated. Yuuri twisted his hand in what he hoped was a graceful manner. Victor groaned. Yuuri watched him squirm in amazement.

“That time after the China Cup, do you remember? That was my first time.” Yuuri was pumping his cock, not without caution. He could tell Victor anything, now. He felt like his life had reached the place it needed to be, like he had memorized all the footwork, the jumps, like the program was just starting. The butterflies that he imagined clawing at his intestines at the start of every competition, they were beautiful. They were so pretty, they had torn down a wall. He had watched Victor with long hair and thought, _if only_. He had watched him cut his hair and thought, _wait, wait for me. I’m coming. _He had failed at last year’s Grand Prix Final and cried in the bathroom, mind screaming, _there’s a word for this, there’s a word for this, and you can’t pronounce it, I’ll never catch up, I was never meant to._

“You’re lying,” panted Victor. “You’re totally lying.”

Yuuri snorted at him. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Yuuri.” Victor was watching him with amazement. He closed his eyes, grin breaking to groan. “You’re incredible.”

Yuuri huffed. “I’ve watched a lot of porn,” he said, then wished that humanity would hurry the fuck up and invent time travel already, because. Wow.

But Victor jerked his hips up, arching his back. He opened an eye, noticing Yuuri’s expression. “You must have some idea, Yuuri, of what you are.” He pulled him down close, pausing. “You should fuck me.”

Yuuri couldn’t even answer this. Victor was a thousand miles per hour. He looked like a supermodel, he basically was one. He was every possible type of weather combined into a person. That was the thing they didn’t tell you about him, in the magazines. That he was easy to digest through a screen but in person, he filled up every room and then some. It could get claustrophobic and loud and occasionally, it got so quiet that Yuuri didn’t know where he was anymore.

But the thing was, around him, Yuuri felt like he was just as much. Like he was born a typhoon and a tsunami as well as a breeze. Victor coerced it all out of him, paraded it, even.

Yuuri pulled Victor up by his tie and didn’t apologize for it. Victor whined. Yuuri pulled Victor’s hair, too, and Victor leaned into it eagerly.

“You’re so tight,” said Yuuri a bit later, blushing, a finger inside of Victor.

“Fuck, Yuuri.” Victor was almost drooling.

Yuuri noticed his hand shaking as he uncapped the bottle of lube, because he was still who he was. Victor saw it, Yuuri knew he did, but he didn’t give him anything except countless kisses placed on the knuckles of his unoccupied hand. “I want to watch,” he said. Yuuri poured lube onto his hand, slicked it all over his dick. Rubbed it. Victor gave a little whistle. Yuuri laughed, every part of his body pulled taut by invisible strings formed years ago. He acknowledged them, gave them a nod. Moved on.

“_Ah_,” moaned Yuuri, twisting his hand.

“You could come, right now, couldn’t you,” said Victor quietly. He was flushed,head tilted mischievously.

“Touch me,” pleaded Yuuri. “Please.”

“So polite.” Victor’s expression was warm. His fingers joined Yuuri’s. “I want you inside me.” Yuuri wanted it. He let himself want it.

“Look at you,” Victor said over and over, words colored pink and orange falling in between sweaty limbs. Moving around in ways that Yuuri had never imagined, making noises Yuuri hadn’t let himself make up.

“It’s time for me to tell you a secret,” muttered Yuuri, breaking the sound of skin against skin. Victor looked up at him, inquisitively. “You were the cause of my sexual awakening when I was a teenager.”

Victor was able to preen, even as Yuuri thrust inside him. “That’s really hot, actually.”

They both came too quickly.

Victor held him close, and Yuuri clutched him tighter, hoping that he knew it meant he wouldn’t leave, he wanted it all.

“I don’t think I was ever truly in love until I met you.” Victor slurred his words together just slightly, and Yuuri had been around him long enough to know that meant he was afraid.

“I don’t think I ever knew myself until I met you,” replied Yuuri. Holding Victor’s hand felt new, every time. Even then, even then- it felt like home.

“We’re so embarrassing.” Victor sniggered, covering his face with his hands.

“Yurio definitely would have yelled at us by now.” Yuuri moved to rest his chin on Victor’s shoulder. He was able to stare at Victor’s eyelashes up close and uninhibited now.

Victor pressed him so close that Yuuri pawed at him to let him breathe. “I’m never letting you go.” He mussed up Yuuri’s hair.

_No_, Yuuri thought. “I’ll never want you to.”


End file.
